


Tiptoe Around

by Joel7th



Series: Stray [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Crack Pairing, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Oscar is one of The Swedes, Sequel, Spoilers for Season 2, The Swedes - Freeform, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, mention of Ben Hargreeves, mention of The Sparrow Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26929498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joel7th/pseuds/Joel7th
Summary: Number One scoffed. “Are you kidding me?” He laughed, low and humorless. “We both know these aren’t my memories, my experiences. How are they a part of myself when never in my thirty years have I been in that shitstain of a motel room, surrounded by fucking ghosts? Nor have I ever been inside you in order to, what, roll in the dirty like a filthy mutt?”---A request from Sparrow!Ben forced Klaus to come clean with his siblings about Number One’s circumstance.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/Oscar
Series: Stray [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891927
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

Klaus didn’t think he possessed an extraordinary ability to attach a face to footsteps but when his ears picked up the soft skidding of (expensive) leather shoes on the linoleum floor, he knew exactly which face to expect without lifting his head from the page he had been perusing over the last hour. Numbers were never his strong suit and he would gladly let Oscar do it for him (excellent at math, he had recently discovered) if his Swiss-army ghost’s chicken scrawl wasn’t completely intelligible. Without taking his eyes off the calculator screen, Klaus waved his ‘Hello’ hand in lieu of greeting as the footsteps stopped in front of his counter.

“Would it kill you to give a simple, proper ‘Hello’?” the all-too-familiar voice asked.

Two months ago, this voice had had Klaus frozen on the spot and later propelled him into an alcohol frenzy. One month ago, this voice had churned his insides and made him yearn for a stiff drink. The need for a drink still lingered at the back of his mind (as if Oscar would let any bottle within his reach stay intact), but all it did now was elicit a soft, bored sigh that barely made it out of his parted lips. “Don’t know, don’t wanna try either,” Klaus replied, furrowing his brows as he copied the number on the screen to the page. Something didn’t seem right, his gut instinct warned, and he knew he should trust it since it was always smarter than his brain anyway.

He was about to give up and call for Oscar (where had he disappeared to anyway?) when a finger with short, rounded nail tapped a number. “It should be 0.6 instead of 0.06. One zero too many.”

The corner of Klaus’s lips twitched. So that was the problem for which he’d been racking his brain for the last hour, a simple typo!

“Make one joke about Asians and math and my fist will have to make contact with your jaw.”

Klaus put down his tiger-shaped pen (same pair with Allison’s) and leaned back against the wall behind him. “I’d advise you not, Onesie,” he said, one hand on his canted hip as he did a brief once-over of the man before him. Still as much a sore thumb as the first time he had stepped foot in here, what with this thirty-year-old private schoolboy get-up — no normal, age-appropriate clothes in his closet? “My seven-foot-tall Swedish assassin still delights in hitting the bullseye between your eyes.”

Number One. Reggie’s golden boy, although the ‘golden’ part might have been tarnished with fragmented memories of a literal ghost from another timeline. Klaus wondered if Daddy dearest had sniffed out his little secret, and if not, how long Number One would continue to sneak past his radar while dragging behind the ever-growing baggage — as he had said, the dreams and visions only increased in frequency, showing no sign of stopping. Klaus tried his best not to think too hard about that lest he himself fall into the rabbit hole and fall apart.

Experience had taught him that if he was powerless to change something, the best he could do was ride along and see how spectacular a dumpster fire it would land in.

Hence these out-of-the-blue visits and this sort of frenemy relationship. Added in a spoonful of unresolved sexual tension and there was a formula for his own soap opera.

“You and I both know your ghost is nowhere near six feet,” Number One countered. “Five point seven, if we’re feeling particularly generous.”

At the climax of one of their numerous rows, Klaus had manifested Oscar, whose undiluted murderous aura had had Number One clam up and leave the shop without another word.

“Tsk, height is a minefield even I dare not tread,” Klaus replied. “Don’t blame me when you find your pretty Porsche short of a wing mirror or windscreen.”

His hands clasped behind his back, Number One shrugged, smiling thinly. “No-car day. I took the bus.”

“Why? Going green? Daddy revoked your driving privilege after too many costly repairs?”

The smile died on his lips and Number One cast his gaze down in a never-before-seen expression of shame. It piqued Klaus’s curiosity and before his good sense kicked in, he had already dipped a finger in to see what he would stir up. “So it’s true then?” he asked, more glee in his tone than he should ever have. “Daddy did take back the car?”

Whether Number One had caught it or not, he didn’t show. “It’s included in the Number One’s package, and I’m not the current Number One.”

Ah, the grueling monthly re-numbering system Number One had mentioned off-handedly in one of his spontaneous visits, assuming Klaus wouldn’t be keen enough to pick up on such detail. Just when he thought their Dad couldn’t get any worse, this timeline’s Reggie had gone all-out to prove him wrong.

Klaus began to think he and his siblings had slammed the jackpot to be unadopted, because he was 100% sure all the drugs and booze in this world couldn’t have saved him from a pubescent suicide note saturated with the toxic cutthroat environment in that household.

“Looks like we won’t be calling you ‘Onesie’ for a while. How about coming up with a name for yourself? It can be our little secret.”

Klaus threw a wink at Number One, who stared at him as if Klaus had just suggested a scandalous notion like them eloping together and having their wedding officiated in Russia.

“I don’t need a name.”

“Nonsense, a name indicates individuality, which is maybe something you should start developing. That’s why I picked my name when Mom — _Mom_ , not the silicone Nanny McPhee you have — asked how I would like to be called.”

“Your kid brother doesn’t seem to care about your so-called individuality.”

“ _Au contraire_ , Five has so much of that a name simply can’t contain. Besides, he’s Five this month and also the next, and any months after that.”

Klaus pretended he didn’t notice the slight movement of Number One’s lips — it could just be a muscular twitch. “I’m thinking... Justin,” he drawled.

“Justin?”

“As in Justin Bieber.”

Number One blinked twice before his expression quickly morphed into the surprised-Pikachu meme. “How did you know I listen to Justin Bieber?”

 _OK, joke’s on me_. “Forget that,” Klaus said, deflated, “back to ‘Onesie’ with you. Does have a nice ring to it.”

“You were closed yesterday when I came.”

“Did you? I had to attend a parent-teacher conference for my twin, that’s the one you just called a kid but is not actually a kid.”

“Your what?!”

“My twin brother,” Klaus elucidated, exaggeratedly slow. “Long story short: we all needed to take a DNA test and the result revealed our outstanding masquerade as father and son was genetically-based. Kinda crazy, huh, not to mention fucked up because Daddy had kept us in the dark for all these years. I mean, it probably won’t tectonically shift our dynamic but still.”

“I can’t even imagine having a twin... or having someone related to me for that matter,” Number One confessed.

Klaus had to bite his tongue to keep the words from spilling out of his mouth. Ben and Number One weren’t related. He repeated that in his head, with a huge-ass exclamation mark in neon lights for emphasis. They were two parallels, mirroring each other in various ways but at the end of the day, Ben and Number One were two separate beings that would never meet except in that muddled recess of Klaus’s mind.

“They can be real pain in the ass, trust me, especially in the morning when there’s six of you and only two bathrooms,” Klaus said. “So, why did you come find me? Don’t tell me you missed me already?”

“The... thing you sold me last time, it’s...”

Klaus arched an eyebrow comically. “What? Did you receive a phone call saying you had seven days to live? Last time you came was two weeks ago and here you are now.”

“You told me it was a cursed videotape,” Number One barked, a little red in the face from either mortification or the poorly ventilated air in this _antique_ shop. “It was gay porn!”

“Which is older than both of us, so a national treasure naturally. Did I say ‘cursed’? Because no, I said it was ‘haunted’, by those who had been persecuted for making and distributing it, or trying to. Would you like to say ‘hi’ to them?”

Seeing Number One’s eyes do a 360-degree sweep of his surroundings, Klaus smirked. The ghosts had long gone, of course, persuaded to enter the light by Klaus’s promise to keep their legacy alive, but it was great fun to fuck with Mr. Stick-up-his-ass.

“So you did watch it? Did it awake anything in you?” He twirled his forefinger in an abstract, suggestive motion. “Any tickle where the sun doesn’t shine?”

“I demand a refund,” Number One snarled.

Klaus tut-tutted him, twisting his waist a bit to point a finger at a carton board on his left. “I’ve let you know since day one that there’s no refund policy,” he said, arrhythmically tapping the words “No refund”, upper-cased and written in glaring neon green.

Despite the cold shoulder Klaus had given him, Number One had returned to his shop and this time, no amount of threat and a destroyed wing mirror plus windscreen had been very effective in persuading him to leave.

“You’re running a shop,” Number One had stated matter-of-factly, “I’m here to shop.”

Klaus had thrown up both hands in defeat and dumped his latest batch of purchases on the counter.

Number One had left his shop that day with a Jason-Voorhees-in-the-box with suspicious rustic stains.

Klaus never asked what he had done with it, nor was he curious about the fates of Number One’s various later purchases. It was just business after all, and Klaus wasn’t dumb enough to turn down good business.

When he noticed Number One wasn’t staring a little too long at his handwriting but rather at the hand that had created it, Klaus scowled at him. “Say one word about wearing pink nail polish, or any nail polish at all, is unmasculine and I’ll roundhouse kick your pompous ass.”

“But you like black,” Number One said, blinking at Klaus as if he had no idea what hackles he had accidentally raised to earn the ire. “Every time you paint your nails, you insist that it be black.”

Klaus was momentarily stunned. There it went again, just another of the numerous slips Number One had let out that could only have been fished straight from a well of phantom memories. It had occurred so often and so unprompted that Klaus doubted whether Number One was able to draw a line where his own experiences ended and Ben’s began, blended seamlessly as they appeared to be at this point. It was nothing short of terrifying if you put a thought to it, and not for the first time had Klaus felt for the man, his sympathy and wicked joy derived from the knowledge that Number had likely been suffering from it not mutually exclusive.

It was complicated and headache-prone how he felt about Number One of The Sparrow Academy, and as with most things which might give him mental ulcers, Klaus dealt with them the only way he knew: sweep them under the rug with a childish hope that time would magically make them go ‘poof’ a like fart in the wind.

“I lost a bet to Allison,” Klaus explained. “Vanny was the executioner and damn does she have real talent for it. I’ll never paint my own nails from now on.”

It was hard to say which he found hilarious, that Vanya excelled in the delicate art of manicure or that Klaus was perfectly shameless about nagging at his sister to do his nails for him, but Number One broke into a fit of uncharacteristic giggles. Klaus’s guts warmed at the sounds, which he dearly missed. Since they were snotty brats Ben had always been Klaus’s active partner-in-crime — no one could have suspected the quiet, meek-looking Asian boy and Ben had both played into and subverted that stereotype by masterminding at least half of their endless shenanigans. The streak had continued well after his death, and Klaus’s absurd, rebellious acts had not once failed to elicit Ben’s laughter. Yet, as Klaus had grown more capricious and his behaviors more outrageous over the time, the humor had been lost on Ben, and Klaus had witnessed his most favorite brother’s smiles morph into scowls, teetering between annoyance and resentment. Like the spirits that occasionally haunted him for kicks, Ben had become envious of Klaus’s life and his taking for granted everything he had lost, which in turn had tilted their relationship from light-hearted joked and playful banters to cutting barbs and bitter sneers. Although he had snarled at Ben as much as Ben had him, Klaus had begun to comprehend his brother’s feelings; he would have felt the same had their positions been reversed, in spite of his rampant suicidal thoughts when he hit a new rock bottom, each lower than the last.

Generally Klaus just missed those sounds, and being able to hear them again turned his insides into butter. “Though all goods are nonrefundable, you can exchange it for something else,” he said, sarcasm-free. “I have a lovely hand-drawn Ouija board waiting for her suitor. She’ll make for an exquisite decorative piece even if you have no intention to chinwag with spirits.”

As Klaus went on tiptoe to reach for said item, Number One said, “Actually, I’m not here because of that videotape.”

Klaus let out a soft “Oh” and turned around to face him.

“Your sister, Number Three—”

“Allison.”

“Allison, right, she can rumor anyone to do anything, right?”

At the mention of Allison’s powers, a sense of dread started coiling in his guts, causing Klaus to frown slightly. Gut instinct, probably.

As soon as his thought went to his trusted apparition and where he had been frolicking when Klaus kind of needed him, there was a ‘whoosh’ by his ear. Glancing sideway, he found Oscar materialize beside him, his back ramrod-straight and his gaze sharp and focused, battle-mode on. Huh? That was strange. When had his ghost developed teleportation and how?

Well, he had time to explore that matter later.

“Yeah, that’s what it said on the label,” Klaus said, a tad defensively, rubbing small circles into Oscar’s wrist with the pad of his thumb to tell him that he was okay, no need to shoot anything yet. “Didn’t you know her former codename already?”

“I did, but I just don’t grasp the scope of her ‘rumors’. Is it a mind-controlling ability like our Number Six but instead of brainwaves, she uses her voice?”

“Why do you suddenly develop an interest in Allison’s powers?” Klaus asked, lifting an eyebrow and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Allison’s rumor and “mind-controlling” being in the same line was an ominous ring.

If that wasn’t alarming enough, Number One squared his shoulders with his hands in his pants pockets, both trademark signs of his self-restraint, this time hopefully not from releasing his tentacle pals. His eyes also surreptitiously averted Klaus’s narrowed gaze. “Just curious,” he replied with a shrug, trying for nonchalant and sounding anything but. The OG Ben couldn’t lie to save his ass and it seemed in this timeline Reggie had also failed to make a decent liar out of the alternate version.

“Her powers aren’t limited to mind-controlling,” Klaus replied, having decided to play along. “As far as I know.”

“As far as you know?” Number One echoed incredulously. “Didn’t you grow up with her?”

Klaus laughed dryly. “Bold of you to assume we know the extent of each other’s powers. We hardly know our own.”

He took a brief pause for that to sink in before coming to a conclusion. “What I know is there’s always a catch when she uses her abilities, and it ain’t very nice because she self-imposes super stingy usage of them, much to Diego’s chagrin.”

Klaus cocked his head, gauging Number One’s reaction. He couldn’t have brought the subject up for the sake of breaking the ice or satisfying his curiosity, that was plain to see with the way he jammed his hands further into his pockets, his slightly hunched form and the shadow that had just descended on his countenance.

“Do you think,” Number One opened his mouth after moments of pregnant silence, “she can rumor memories away?”

A boulder sank in Klaus’s stomach, adding a quiver imperceptible to anyone but himself in his voice. “Didn’t I tell you there would be a catch?” he said, glancing to his left, where Oscar was standing with his gun pointed ahead, for some molecules of assurance. “If Old Freud has taught us anything, it’s that things are gonna get freaky when your nut is involved, whichever nut it is.”

His double entendre failed to draw a reaction out of Number One. “What if I’m willing to take that risk?”

Klaus saw his face blanch in the ornate mirror hanging behind Number One. “You want Allison to rumor you?”

“Yes,” Number One confirmed, his expression solemn. Something inside Klaus cracked. “Though I’m not talking about _my_ memories.”

“Whose then?”

The sharp glare Number One gave him made Klaus jolt like a surge of electricity. That wasn’t Ben, clearly, that was Reggie’s little soldier dispensing judgement on his opponent before the final blow. “You know damn well whose,” he deadpanned.

For all that Klaus had anticipated, it still came like a sucker punch, shattering whatever it was that had cracked in him, returning him to that fateful instance when he recovered from the shockwave and found a gaping void where Ben’s presence should be in his consciousness. He felt like doubling over and being petrified on the spot at the same time. His heartbeats banging on his eardrums were unbearably loud and in a split second Klaus was afraid his ears might burst. He registered neither the ghostly pressure of Oscar’s grip on his bicep nor the humming of energy at the tips of his fingers.

There was unmistakable concern in Number One’s eyes when Klaus dared to lock gaze with him. “Why?” Klaus asked, surprising himself by maintaining a relatively clear voice. “Why do you want to do away with a part of yourself?”

Number One scoffed. “Are you kidding me?” He laughed, low and humorless. “We both know these aren’t my memories, my experiences. How are they a part of myself when never in my thirty years have I been in that shitstain of a motel room, surrounded by fucking ghosts? Nor have I ever been _inside_ you in order to, what, roll in the dirt like a filthy mutt?”

Klaus would cackle at Number One’s description of Ben’s behaviors in the haze of being sort of alive if it didn’t cause such a painful jab in his chest and fill his mouth with the taste of bile.

“I shouldn’t even be here,” Number One went on, an edge of desperation getting more and more palpable in his tone. Klaus couldn’t recall Ben ever sounding this desperate, even right after his funeral. “I should never have met you, any of you. For fuck’s sake we had existed in separate timelines until the day you lot dropped into our house like some misdelivered package.”

“Since we’re going with the postal analogy, you’re gonna be a jerk who tosses the package in the dumpster when he sees the name isn’t his?”

“What have they gotten me but terrible confusion and a skeleton in my closet so big I can hardly wrench the door close? And it’s getting bigger by the day. I never asked to have _his_ memories transferred into me! I was fine not knowing who the hell any of you were or how many times you had overdosed in seventeen fucking years!”

Number One got a point, and because it was a point so well made it poked and pricked Klaus’s wound which just began to heal on the surface until the scabs came off and out came a mix of pus and blood. He reached for Oscar’s gun-calloused hand and squeezed until his knuckles turned white and protested. He needed it, needed the pain to keep his back straight and stand upright. Ben had witnessed him break down more times than he cared to count but Klaus couldn’t afford to fall apart in front of Number One, who was rejecting his brother’s proof of existence like a bad rash.

It was usually not in Klaus’s nature to be vindictive, yet when he was hurt to a certain degree, he might just be.

“Yeah, you were so fine being Daddy’s number one, his golden boy who he must have paraded in front of a sea of cameras and flashes more than once, I bet. Guess ‘golden’ isn’t synonymous with ‘irreplaceable’ in his dictionary.”

The shadow on Number One’s scarred face darkened and his eyes glistened with a multitude of emotions. His lips pressing into a thin line, he pulled his right hand out of his pocket and it hovered above the hem of his sweater. Klaus stiffened. Next to him Oscar raised his gun.

“Go ahead,” Klaus taunted, lips forming a cruel smirk despite a fist closing around his heart. “Let your buddies come out and play. Last time you didn’t miss a beat.”

To his surprise, Number One’s hand only smoothed down an invisible crease on his sweater. It then balled into a fist and hung by his side.

“Funny enough, I don’t think I can let them loose on you anymore,” Number One said with an exasperated huff, unconsciously dipping his head, “even if I want to. The Horrors roil and growl and hiss at your taunts but there’s no malice, no killing intent. It seems almost they’ve grown... fond of you, for a lack of better word. It was the same with Ben, wasn’t it?”

The upturned curve of Klaus’s mouth flattened. He bit the inside of his lips to keep them from trembling. “Funny enough, I used to tease Ben with that, that his Bentacles fancied me enough to not rip me apart, just a little probe here and there where my hand’s too short to reach.”

Number One looked at him. He was facing away from the front door, where the afternoon sun was streaming in and generously providing natural light for the shop. In a-blink-and-it’s-gone moment, the play of light and shadow plus the angle concealed his faint scar and before Klaus was his dearly departed brother in the flesh, and all he needed was reaching out and he would have an armful of Ben. “You want your brother back,” Number One said, dispersing the illusion like cigarette smoke. “It’s evident in the way you look at me sometimes and the unconscious ease you share familial anecdotes with me even we’re, what, frenemies at best and just enemies at worst. But I am not Ben Hargreeves, I don’t have a name, only a number.”

That hit real close to home, but after the emotional trip of the last thirty minutes, Klaus was actually grateful that numbness had set in — it was much similar to popping a pill, only without an actual pill. “That’s a much-needed wake-up call,” he replied calmly. “You’re not Ben, which makes you our adversary given we got off on the wrongest foot possible. What makes you think Allison wouldn’t take the chance to turn you into a six-year-old girl for the rest of your life, if she was in the mood? Surely Vanya would love to braid your hair and Diego to make pancakes for you.”

Number One paled visibly, opening his mouth and clamming it shut almost instantly.

“I suggest you leave my shop and maybe never come back again.”

“Klaus...”

“Are you closing for the day? We have dinner night—”

The door was pushed and a man wedged in through the opening, blocking all the light with his hulking figure. Klaus knew it could only his big bro Luther even before hearing the voice.

His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when Luther slammed Number One against the wall, the force causing a few picture frames to fall down. He hadn’t gotten over the shock — how had Luther become lightning-fast? — when Luther’s huge hand clamped around Number One’s throat like a vice and he lifted the smaller man up so that his expensive Italian shoes barely scraped the floor. Number One struggled with both hands on Luther’s forearm but not only did Luther not budge an inch, his grip also tightened to the point it could snap the fragile neck in half with a flick of the wrist.

“Move a finger and I’ll make your eyes _pop_ ,” Luther warned.

That was admittedly a decent one-liner, proving all their movie nights had paid off somewhat. In any other situation and Klaus would give him a solid thumb-up.

The next line, however, should not receive any thumbs.

“You have ten seconds to explain why you’re here.”

Even Number One, who was busy fighting for any oxygen he could get, had to arch his eyebrows.

“He’s here for me,” Klaus answered for him, “but not in either way your mind is dashing to. We’re having a civil... chat about the videotape I sold him. _That_ videotape, if you know what I mean.”

Luther looked thoroughly unconvinced, which brought a sting to Klaus’s ego. “ _That one_?” he asked, his eyes darting back and forth between Klaus and Number One.

“Someone had a ~revelation,” Klaus sang-song, throwing a wink at Luther, who was on the verge of transforming into a giant strawberry. “Could you please put him down?” he said in normal tone. “I’m not hurt, I’m still in one pretty piece.” He made vague gesture at his body, clad in a shiny black halter top and lace-up leather pants, both of which served to accentuate his delicate lines and curves.

Luther’s grip loosened minimally and though Number One didn’t look all peachy still being strangulated, he didn’t look like he would die the very next second either.

“Did he attack you?”

“No! I may not have your muscles but I’m not defenseless as you often think.”

To make his point, Klaus raised his fist, which was emitting a soft glow. In a blink his tiny shop was overcrowded with blue, semi-transparent figures, some of whom were wearing outfits that could only be seen in period dramas. Klaus felt a swell of pride when Luther’s eyes, wide as saucers, swept around the place and landed on the gun-toting, serious-looking Oscar. His Adam’s apple moved as realization fast dawned in. Even Number One, who should have gotten used to seeing apparitions in Klaus’s shop by now, was sporting an astonished look.

“Well, at least I can proudly say I’m selling genuine haunted stuff,” Klaus quipped. “I could snap my fingers and they’d go _Night of the Living Dead_ on any assailant.”

“A-Alright,” Luther agreed, impressed. “Why did he come to find you?”

Klaus sighed inwardly, spreading his ‘Goodbye’ palm, sending all the other ghosts except Oscar back to their original spots, out of his vision. “Let him go, please. Then we can talk. Wouldn’t want him poking in the family business, right?”

“Are you sure we should let him go?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure, big guy,” Klaus assured him, patting his thick upper arm. “Trust me on this one.”

Luther hesitantly released Number One, who landed on his bottom, clutching his neck. There sure to be some formidable bruises a few hours later, and Klaus wondered what sort of creative excuse Number One could come up with to explain them. Feeling sorry for the man, he extended his hand towards him, promptly ignoring Luther’s dubious stare. With some hesitation, Number One took his offer and stood up.

“Told you so,” Klaus said in low voice. “It’s better you don’t come here again.”

Number One munched his lips as though his desire to say whatever was on his mind was warring with his sense. In the end, Klaus could tell which side had emerged victorious because Number One turned on his heels and left without a word.

“He wasn’t there because of the... tape, was he?” Luther asked when Sparrow’s Ben had really gone.

“Oh Luther, say ‘gay porn’ out loud, with pride. There’s nothing wrong with it. We both know it raised _something_ in you and _on_ you.”

Luther’s blush furiously returned. “D-Don’t try to change the subject. I’m being serious.”

“Right,” Klaus said, the grin dying on his lips. “My very perceptive brother has seen through my mediocre lie.” Klaus clapped his hands weakly. “Did Allison send you to make sure I’m home on time and not drinking my ass off in some dumpster?”

“It was Five.”

At the mention of his twin, something soft unfurled in Klaus’s chest. “Time for a family meeting. I have a few things I need to tell you guys.”

_To be continued_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was originally a oneshot but it got longer than planned so I decided to split it. This chapter focuses more on Klaus and emo!Ben while Oscar is mostly in the background. The next chapter will have more of him (and some fluff).
> 
> Since it’s October and Halloween is coming, I think it fitting to pepper a few references of horror movies.
> 
> I headcanoned Klaus and Five being twins since they have lots of similarities, appearance-wise and personality-wise.


	2. Chapter 2

It was like dying in the most gruesome way possible, taking a trip to Hell, meeting the Big Boss Down There, getting chewed up and spat out and then kicked back to the mortal realm to go through the literal blender... twice.

That was how Klaus felt when he staggered to his room, emotionally if not physically exhausted. Family dinner had been... intense, almost rivaling that unforgettable 1963 dinner where they had performed so epically bad in front of their future dad that he had likely decided on the spot to not have anything to do with this lot. His siblings, to put it mildly, hadn’t taken very well to Klaus’s keeping such a matter from them for _months_ when they had all agreed to be honest with each other: Diego had been close to decking him and might have done it if not for Luther’s firm grip on his shoulder; Allison had crossed her arms and refused to meet his apologetic gaze for the rest of the evening, her dark eyes shining with a sheen of moisture; in contrast, Five’s eyes had been nailing on him since the truth came out and for the first time during their years together, Klaus had been truly afraid of his twin’s aura; even sweet Vanny had looked at him with sadness, like she had just come to realize that she had misplaced her trust in him and it had hurt her and was now wondering if she could continue to trust him. Luther, unexpectedly, had been the only sibling to defend him, even when his hand felt too heavy as he gave Klaus’s back a light pat. Klaus knew he deserved every bit of their collective anger, knew he had screwed up real bad this time with his selfishness, which had spurred him on to lie about Ben back in 1963 and to keep Number One’s secret while lying to himself about keeping the hurt from getting to them. Still, it was their transparent disappointment that penetrated deeply and drained his hard-earned self-esteem, which was for the first time in his life not constructed by drugs, booze and personas. Back to being the family fuck-up with you, even without the pills and constant flippancy.

His foot tripped on some haphazardly discarded item on the floor — who was the sloth personification in this household? — and Klaus stumbled, oh-so-ready to add a fractured chin to the list of what made today a bad day. He was spared from an unfortunate trip to the clinic however, for his chin hit a solid chest at the same time cold, strong hands steadied his shoulders. Strange, Klaus hadn’t even seen him when he entered the room and turned on the light, his thoughts too jumbled to wonder where his Swedish assassin had disappeared to. Must be the new trick he had pulled at the shop.

“ _Tackar_ ,” Klaus said, Swedish rolling off his tongue with relative ease. He had been self-learning the language whenever business was slow, motivated by Oscar’s wide-eyed look at his first try of a Swedish phrase.

Oscar’s smile didn’t take over his stoic face for very long as he helped Klaus down the bed. Klaus’s body collapsed into the mattress and for a few moments, he laid there, face-down and still as if waiting for the bed to swallow him whole like one of those B-movies he had watched with Ben during a sleepless night — those had been better nights when he had a roof over his head, food in his stomach and the luxury of an old-timey TV set with limited number of channels to choose. The mattress dipped minutely, which meant Oscar was joining him.

“Rough day at the office,” Klaus groaned to the sole audience in the room, his voice muffled. Starting to feel suffocated, he turned to lie on his side and pillowed his head on Oscar’s thigh, confident that it would not be shunned. Sure enough, he felt ghostly fingers in his curls soon after. Being petted like an oversized pussy should sting his ego just a little, yet there weren’t many things in the world Klaus was willing to trade it for. Besides, what was bad about being a cat? They got beauty and grace aplenty and they could lounge in the sun however long they wished — sounds heavenly to him.

Oscar made no comment as usual but in his silence was the unique kind of sympathy that could only be felt through their specially forged bond: just as Oscar was able to receive some of Klaus’s stronger emotions, Klaus could catch on his subtle shifts in the emotion spectrum.

“I knew it would come to bite me in the ass someday,” Klaus began. “I was selfish and maybe I’ve been subconsciously trying to project Ben into Number One since his first visit. I can’t help seeing Ben every time I see him, despite the drab outfit, the facial scar. It’s hard not to, now that they even share memories and experiences. But I didn’t intend to keep a secret forever. ‘Tomorrow I’ll tell them,’ my inner CEO of procrastination declared, and here we go, ‘tomorrow’ turned into a couple months and I managed to upset every living human in the house at the same time. Quite a feat, was it? Just when I start earning a few scraps of credibility, I screw up. Again.”

Klaus felt his beats quicken at the end of his rant and lifted his hands only to see his fingers trembling. They were yearning to curl around the smooth neck of a bottle, if the thirst in his mouth was any indication. He clenched his fists, fancying that the physical act could quelch his craving; he had been sober for nearly two months and although there were plenty of times he had felt like a three-course dinner of shit, with even more shit on the side, Klaus couldn’t help a swell of pride. Being in control of his life for once was exhilarating — and addictive, he dared to say; he trusted this substitute for the pills and bottles was one his siblings would approve.

Oscar held his fists and before Klaus had time to ponder what the Swede was having in mind, he gently pried them open and began to massage each digit. It might be surprising, shocking even, that an expert assassin had the capacity for such tenderness but Klaus had always knew there were a lot more to Oscar than his casual stoicism suggested. Five had proven to him that being a perfect killing machine didn’t equate to having your humanity stripped off, and that being a ruthless murderer didn’t mean you were immune to emotions and an array of pains a human being could go through in their life. Oscar had further cemented it. On one hand he could blast a man’s head in a heartbeat and on the other, he petted and fed a skinny stray until its tummy was round and all it could do was roll on the floor of Klaus’s shop, forcing Klaus to watch every step and tiptoe around it. While many would likely find them off-putting, the contradictions were precisely what had endeared him to Klaus and transformed his lukewarm acceptance of Oscar’s company at the beginning into genuine enjoyment. More than enjoyment, he was ecstatic that many months ago Oscar had chosen to stay by his side, for now he didn’t want to picture a non-Oscar scenario. It had cost a lot to put himself back together after Ben and even at the moment, he was only taking baby steps on the winding road of recovery. The prospect of going through that a second time scared him shitless because he had grown to rely on Oscar as much as he had his deceased brother. Sometimes it terrified him, this level of dependence, especially when he was sleepless and counting the fine cracks in the ceiling; other times he didn’t think twice about reaching out to Oscar as the first shadow of distress started to loom, like this afternoon in his shop.

“How did you pull the trick earlier?” Klaus asked, twirling his forefinger in a circling motion to make his point. “You know, I’d seen very little of you since lunch and then you came back with a whoosh just when things went awry with Number One.”

Oscar let go of Klaus’s hand to point at his ear.

“You heard me calling you? Really?”

Oscar nodded.

“Where were you anyway?”

“ _Biograf_.”

At Oscar’s one-word answer, Klaus didn’t think his eyes could get any larger. “The cinema house down the street, where they show foreign indie movies?”

Nodded again.

His brain racing to process this brand-new information, Klaus had no reply. First of all, down the street? That was the furthest Oscar had ever gotten from him! They weren’t attached at the hips, of course, but normally one floor was the maximum distance they could put between themselves, any further than that and... well, Klaus hadn’t put it to test and Oscar seemed content to be within arm’s reach, sometimes literally. Still, that paled in comparison with the second discovery of the day: that Oscar had been able to ‘hear’ him and return even though Klaus was quite certain all he had done was wonder about where Oscar was and, poof, there stood his favorite spirit like Genie of the lamp. He already knew they were intrinsically linked, which had gifted them low-leveled mutual telepathy, but Klaus, with his headspace occupied by Number One and his predicament, hadn’t put much thinking beyond that. Maybe, just maybe this was _the_ sign for him to kickstart a serious exploration of the rest of the metaphorical iceberg; after all, hadn’t Daddy dearest told him that he had barely scratched the surface?

Besides, learning that Oscar had been in a cinema house reminded him of Ben and how his brother had pouted and begged to be taken to the movies; unlike Oscar, Ben had never been able to get too far from Klaus, and the tiny TV set they seldom got the luxury of simply couldn’t hold a candle to the magic of the silver screen. Klaus had found it pretty vexing then but what he wouldn’t give now to jump back in time to whack his idiotic self on the head and make him fulfill Ben’s requests so that it wouldn’t become his future greatest regret.

“So, anything there caught your interest?” Klaus asked, changing the subject in order to steer his mood to a lighter course.

To add another bullet point to his list of Oscar’s trivia, the Swede was an avid movie fan, as Klaus had found out with fascination in an attempt to provide him some entertainment. What had originally been a one-movie session had turned into weekly movie marathons in which Oscar consumed just about every possible genre, from teeth-rotting romcoms to nauseating torture porns and slashers.

Oscar grabbed the notepad and ballpoint pen on the bedside table and scribbled something down.

“O...o...di...shon,” Klaus read, squinting hard to make out the Swede’s eye-challenging replication of the Katakana alphabet. “Hope I got it right, it’s been a while since I saw something in Katakana. My Japanese is officially rated A, for ‘abysmal’. What is it about?”

The light curve of Oscar’s lips came as a surprise, albeit the good kind. Even better, there was a glint of mischief in his ice-blue eyes, if the pale yellow light from the bedside lamp, coupled with his exhaustion, wasn’t playing trick on Klaus’s perception. Maybe it wasn’t a trick at all, for he caught a whiff of suggestion from the quiet Swede. “Show me?” Klaus asked, intrigued. “Show me how? Oh dear. I sincerely hope it isn’t a torture porn. You watch all genres but you enjoy torture porn the most, I can tell.” He winked at him. “Not that I’m judgin—”

He might have had a chance to finish his tease if his mouth hadn’t been sealed by lips that felt way too cool to preserve the illusion of a living person. Were Klaus a normal, functional individual who got his shit together, he should be seriously weirded out, grossed out even. But Klaus was, well, Klaus, who had been nicknamed The Séance in his teenage years because death and ghosts had been a daily aspect of his life since he had his first inkling of the world around, and aside from being caught off-guard — it had been a while since he got any mouth-on-mouth action, he was cool with it. Absolutely, totally. More than cool, if he was honest with himself, which he was trying to these days; it took less effort when Oscar was around. He hummed against Oscar’s lips, softer than expected, and grabbed the back of his neck, half to deepen the kiss and half to keep him in place.

Oscar pressed two fingers under Klaus’s jawline, feeling his pulse and countering his assertion of dominance in his own Oscar-y manner.

The kiss was tongue-free, and there was no string of saliva when they parted but Klaus felt his pulse a little too strong and his skin a little too warm for his liking. He needed no mirror to check that his face, too, might have colored a shade similar to his vibrant nail polish. On the contrary, Oscar remained immaculately pale as ever, the perk of being a ghost and having no blood.

Speaking of blood...

Klaus shifted his thighs, trying to hide the effect of having blood. It _really_ had been a while.

“Woah,” he exclaimed, breathlessly, “didn’t see that coming. At all.”

Even when he said that, he could sense no awkwardness brewing in the atmosphere between them. It was hard to pinpoint what exactly was going on inside Oscar’s bleach-blond head, but the nonchalant air exuding from him in waves fully negated the familiar shame tinged with panicked regret many guys had right after the spur-of-the-moment kiss with a fellow creature equipped with a cock. Was it another perk of his ghostly status or was it a hint that this wasn’t his first same-sex encounter? Either way Klaus found it not unpleasant at all.

“So, a romantic movie, huh? Did they kiss and then ride off into the sunset in the end? Clichéd but classic.”

Oscar shrugged, tugging a lock of dark hair which had fallen on the side of Klaus’s face. His fingers brushed the shell of Klaus’s ear and just like that, Klaus’s skin was covered in goosebumps.

First basic symptom of his terminal horniess. Klaus sighed.

“You didn’t stay until the ending,” he said. “Sorry about that... Hey, maybe next time we can go watch it together, y’know, like a—”

“Date.”

Klaus gazed up, mouth slight agape. “This is the first time you’ve spoken English in your mental voice. Have we reached a milestone here?” he said, astonished. “Yeah, like a date. We’re together most of the time, I know, but going on a date could definitely be the start of something new.”

 _Going on a date._ The words rolled smoothly off his tongue. After the kiss it seemed natural. Even the kiss had felt like natural progression from all the blatant flirts, casual touches, and the unprompted yet always accepted intimate gestures. Oscar had never exhibited the faintest abhorrence towards any of them, and Klaus could say with pride he had anticipated something like this to happen sooner or later. It was only a matter of who seized the initiative, and had it not been for Emo Ben, it might have been him — swear to God he had been fantasizing about it long enough.

“I’m wondering if you were, y’know, into males when you were alive.”

Oscar blinked and shook his head. “Right, you don’t remember,” Klaus said, deflated. Before disappointment started rearing its ugly head, he continued, “But it matters not whether you were or were not, _ja_? What does is how you feel now.”

His eyes had that glint again, there was no mistaking this time. “ _Katt_ ,” he replied, back to his mother tongue in the voice like a broken record.

“Yeah, it’s a known fact you adore cats, there’s abundant evidence of it, but we’re talking about a different kind of mammal here, one that looks like... me.”

Klaus propped himself up on his elbows, causing a spaghetti strap of his flimsy top (a loose apron rather than a top Diego had called it since it covered very little of his torso) to slide off his shoulder. It felt kind of silly to try getting his attention like this, as Oscar had already seen most of him on several occasions; nevertheless, he batted his eyelashes at the Swede while running a hand down the length of his body. “Well?”

It was then realization crashed into him like a mega truck. “Wait a tic, wait a tic. You aren’t implying what I think you’re implying, are you?”

Oscar’s smile was enough an answer.

Klaus rolled his eyes, throwing both hands up in defeat. “Fine, I accept. I’m a cat. What sort of cat am I? Not a male calico, alright.”

“ _Svart_.”

“A black cat, huh? Ooh, a mini black panther, I can live with that.” He leaned in closer and caught Oscar’s chin with his thumb and index finger. “We both know cats are notoriously demanding, don’t we? How about givin—”

Being ambushed _twice_ in the span of ten minutes was a record in Klaus’s book, and the result was Klaus, who had been accustomed to the active role in most of his relationships, was stunned for a good five seconds and only broken out of it when Oscar’s hand cradled the back of his head, gun-calloused fingers tangling in his locks and pulling with just enough force to sting his scalp and make his toes curl.

The difference this time, Klaus soon found out, was the much-needed addition of tongue, even in the form of modest licks not unlike how a kitten savored her milk saucer. He snuffed the thought, stopping his mind from running to where Oscar had learned to kiss in that manner, and just indulged himself in the little sparks of pleasure from engaging in intimacy with an individual harboring interest in him. It was not just lust and sex, really, as sex was easy to get with his appearance; what Klaus had been thirsting for was connection with another soul who had witnessed the highs and lows of him with eyes free judgment, who expected nothing from him and took what he could scrape up to offer with open arms. And if that soul happened to be an amnesiac former assassin who might or might not see him as a human feline then so be it.

Some time later in the night, as Klaus snuggled up to a form that no longer gave off warmth, he was finally able to empathize with the scraggy tabby that often wandered to his shop looking for free food and affection from a ghost. Kisses were the limit to how far they had gone — anything further was another night’s discovery; still, the hormones flooding his system was enough to guarantee a good, dreamless sleep in spite of this afternoon’s royal shit show.

“ _Tack så mycket_ ,” he mumbled sleepily into the crook of Oscar’s neck.

Tugged against the Swede’s lithe form, Klaus couldn’t see his expression, yet he was sure his favorite spirit had just graced him with one of his rare smiles.

Perhaps not too rare after all.

...

He was rightfully flabbergasted to run into his twin in the kitchen at six thirty in the morning. Klaus had expected no one — that had been his whole purpose of venturing down here at this hour on a Sunday, least of all Five, who wasn’t known to be a morning person; in fact, if there was no school, you should only expect to see his bed hair after ten in the morning. Klaus himself wasn’t a Johnny-on-the-spot either, so that was probably a twin thing.

Another twin thing was finding each other this uncharacteristically early, one intending to throw something together for a quick breakfast (Klaus seldom got this famished in the morning, weird!) and the other diligently making said breakfast. Eggs and bacon, as the appetizing smell wafting in front of his nostrils indicated.

“Sit,” Five ordered, pointing to the dining table with a spatula.

Klaus immediately obeyed, pulling out two chairs and, after a moment of consideration, doing the same to a third. Too used to Klaus’s odd behaviors, Five made no comment when he put a plate down.

“I thought you were still mad at me,” Klaus wondered out loud, studying the eggs and sizzling bacon.

“Still am, hence the face,” Five replied. A second plate was laid on the table’s surface, likely for himself.

It was only then did it occur to Klaus that his food was arranged into the :( emoji. Someone had caught up on the teen culture at school as of late.

He peered at Five’s plate and found the :| emoji. Nothing out of the ordinary then.

“So... is this like the last meal or something?” Klaus quipped nervously.

“The first meal of the day,” Five replied in even tone, sipping his mug of hot coffee — his daily ritual first thing in the morning. “Didn’t I say you are not allowed to skip it anymore?”

That poured a stream of warm water into the crevices on Klaus’s heart. “Thanks, bro,” he muttered, cutting his eggs with more vigor than he should, scraping his knife against the ceramic.

“I’m not gonna snap your neck by the way, so tell your IKEA mafia to tuck his toy away.”

“Wait, what?” Klaus exclaimed, pressing down on the gun barrel, only for it to spring right up when his hand left. “You can see Oscar?”

“Grainy and flickering like an antiquated TV screen but yes, I can see him. What have you done?”

Klaus experienced a mental rewind of last night’s make-out session, how Oscar’s lips had fitted with his own to near perfection. Could it be...

“I had a bit of a discovery,” Klaus said, clearing his throat. “That’s the result, I guess.”

Five’s knowing eyes darted between his brother and Oscar. He took another sip of coffee, his food barely touched. “Humph, if only the old man had known all the incentive you needed to practice your powers earnestly was a decent eye candy, he might not have settled for the crypt.”

Klaus pursed his lips but did not repudiated.

“There... he’s gone,” Five announced. “Can’t see him anymore. Is he truly gone?”

“Still right here.” So, only temporary, huh? That was something worth researching into.

“Tell your boy toy to go play in the sandbox or whatever. I want some family talk, with an emphasis on ‘family’.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Klaus snapped, without meaning to. He turned to Oscar with an apologetic look. “ _Snälla_?”

Oscar stared unblinkingly at Five, who was cutting his bacon into even pieces. His face unreadable, he leaned down, cupped Klaus’s face in both hands and captured his lips in a prolonged kiss.

Klaus didn’t mean to make a show, swear to God, but he couldn’t help a throaty grunt when Oscar finally left. The ghost sent Five one last glare before vanishing.

“Seriously?” Five mocked. “Right in front of my breakfast?”

“You saw him again?”

Five grinned, showing his rows of perfect white teeth. “In high definition.”

Well, that somewhat confirmed his theory. Who could have thought his powers had such fascinating aspect?

“It’s about Emo Ben, isn’t it?” Klaus asked, trying to alleviate the discomfiture between them.

“Has anyone ever told you that you may have latent clairvoyance?”

“Ha-ha, has anyone told you sarcasm may be your secondary ability?”

“A few,” Five answered nonchalantly. “You might have it too, a secondary power I mean, given that we’re biologically related.”

Thought about his ‘death’ and the girl on the bike aka the big G sprang to his mind. Klaus waved his hand to disperse it.

“We didn’t reach a conclusion, did we, about the guy?”

“We didn’t.”

They had all been busy being upset to completely ignore the matter. Typical Hargreeves behavior, even when they were Hargreeves no more.

“From what he said, it appears Reggie hasn’t figured it out, though I doubt Emo Ben can keep it long. He sucks harder than Dracula in the lying department.”

Five huffed. “You know him better. Say, will he come back to your shop?”

Klaus heaved a lengthy sigh, poking the egg yolk with his fork and earning a scowl from his twin. “Stop that,” he said.

“I told him to never return because we may kill him. Luther kinda slammed the point. But...” Klaus paused, licking the tines of his fork and getting yet another scowl. “He’s nothing if not persistent. After all he still came back despite the costly repair bills. I have a hunch he’ll come back soon.”

“Clairvoyance again?”

Klaus shrugged, chewing a piece of bacon at leisure pace.

“Good. We’ll meet him next time.”

“W-What?” Klaus stammered, biting his tongue in the process.

Five met his querying gaze straight on, coffee mug in hand. “Did I stutter?” he deadpanned.

“No...”

“Then it’s settled.”

“Then it’s settled,” Klaus echoed weakly. If Five said it was, it was. That was how they functioned these days. In a sense, Five had become the Daddy they had never gotten from their former dad.

“What are we gonna do with him?”

“Dunno. It depends. We may talk. Diego may stab him in the eye. I may pop his kneecaps. Luther may crush his skull. Vanya may hug him or she may blow him six ways to Sunday — sorry, wrong choice of word.”

“Jeez, extreme much?”

“Like I said, it depends.”

“What about Allison?”

Klaus’s heart throbbed behind his ribcages. His grip on the knife loosened and it hit the plate with a clang.

“What about Allison?”

“She’s not gonna... rumor him, is she?”

_And wipe Ben’s existence clean. Talk about clean slate._

Five seemed to be reading his thought, which didn’t have to be that difficult since it was undoubtedly spelled out on his features.

“Her power, her decision. But first, we talk. We’re long overdue for a proper conversation.”

Klaus inhaled, then exhaled. Repeat. Let that sink in.

“You should finish before the eggs get cool and yucky.”

Klaus made a face.

“How did you know I would be up at six thirty and made this? I appreciate it though, just curious. Neither of us are early risers.”

“I didn’t. I was going to make breakfast and whoever got down first would get it.”

Klaus pouted, which Five deliberately ignored. “Two portions?”

“The bacon was going to expire so better consume it.”

Klaus blew a raspberry as he forked a piece of egg. “Why so early?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Five replied, glancing at Klaus’s face. “You seem to have gotten a good night’s sleep from the look on your face.”

“I, uh, got some help.”

“I don’t wanna know.”

“Meanie Fivey. Do I look like the type to kiss and tell?”

Five rolled his eyes, his hand holding the fork froze mid-air. “You only kissed?” he asked with incredulity.

“Oi, slow burn has its virtues, too.”

“Whatever.”

“Hey, can I have some coffee? Need my daily injection of caffeine as well.”

“You’re lucky you’re family.”

Klaus beamed. “Thanks, Fivey,” he said, leaning over to kiss his baby twin on the cheek, only to be stopped by said baby twin’s hand on his bare chest.

Some time later, once Klaus had licked his plate clean and was nursing a mug similar to Five, a thought visited him.

“Have you ever heard of a Japanese flick called _Oodishon_? He tried his best to pronounce the word, though he was not one hundred percent confident. “It’s ‘Audition’ in English, I think.”

“Yeah, I watched it in Osaka during a job,” Five said, finishing the last bit of his food. “A sick one that is, in multiple senses of the word.”

“Huh?” Klaus was dumbfounded. “Why is it ‘sick’?”

“The plot isn’t for the weak stomachs, but the practical effects are top-notch, I give it that, very realistic-looking puke and severed appendages. Also, don’t ever show it Diego; he may need a trip to the ER.”

Klaus’s jaws dropped to the floor. “What?” he exclaimed. “It’s not a romantic flick?”

Five sported an amused look. “Unless you consider a man being taken apart with piano wire by his hot psychotic girlfriend romantic.”

Klaus banged his fists on the dining table, prompting Five to arch an eyebrow.

“ _Ôi cái thằng chết tiệt!_ ” he said, then threw his head back and laughed.

_End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Vietnamese phrase at the end is roughly equivalent to “That little shit heel!”, with similar tone of fond exasperation.
> 
> “Tackar” means “Thanks” and “Tack så mycket” means “Thank you very much.”
> 
> Klaus’s top in this chapter was inspired by Robbie’s outfit in the latest episode of The Earth Locker, with David Castañeda as the guest.  
> Audition is a Japanese horror movie made in 1999 (Director: Takashi Miike). It’s not recommended for the weak stomachs since it contains some super disturbing (and gross) scenes. There’s needles involved so it’s a real nightmare for Diego.
> 
> After what Axel and Otto did to Elliot, I’m rather convinced the Swedes might be into torture porn. Tom Sinclair (Oscar’s actor) even remarked that Oscar was quite a mad dog off the leash without his brothers.


End file.
